Do You Hear the People Sing?
by Lyn Piton
Summary: Six months after Voldemort’s defeat, Hogwarts turns to song in a effort to begin healing. HPSS Preslash.
1. Well, That Was Inevitable

_**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. _Les Misérables_ belongs to Boublil and Schoenberg, et al. I've merely borrowed them to hear Sev sing. ;)_

_**A/N:** This was originally written for Wave VII of the From Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest at http: in answer to the "No Man Is an Island" Challenge. Many thanks to my lovely beta, Ziasudra._

**Do You Hear the People Sing?**

By Lyn Piton

It had been exactly six months since the calamitous Battle of Hogwarts, six months since Death Eaters stormed the Great Hall during the start-of-term feast and Harry Potter sent their leader to hell with a flash of green. The battle was won, but the cost of victory was high, and the school had yet to recover.

In some ways, Harry was grateful for the apathy shown by the other students. In the deepest, most selfish region of his heart, he was relieved that all those involved had their own pain to concentrate on rather than focusing their attentions on the Boy-Who-Killed. He entered the Great Hall that evening to the quiet murmur of sound that had replaced the cacophony of the previous school year, slowly sliding into his place at the Gryffindor table. He glanced across at Hermione, her thick hair shielding her from his gaze. He sighed, then spoke. "I heard someone mentioning something about an announcement tonight...?"

Hermione swallowed, daintily wiped her mouth with her serviette, and replied. "Professor Dumbledore has an announcement to make after dinner regarding a project for the older students." Her gaze remained locked on her food, although she seemed to have no interest in actually eating anymore.

Harry felt his appetite vanish as he watched his former friend ignore him. Grabbing a roll so he could have something to hold, he said softly, "Thanks, Hermione."

She gave no sign that she had heard him, and Harry clenched his hands, the crisp bread turning to grey putty in his fist. A scream was threatening to escape his throat as hurt and anger quickly filled him more than food ever did, anymore.

There were still some who looked to him, the Boy-Who-Lived, to fix everything. He had never expected that from Hermione, and perhaps that was his first mistake. After everything she had read about him, everything she had endured on his behalf, he should have known. She blamed him, just as Ron had.

She blamed him _for_ Ron, blamed him for overshadowing the poor boy until he ran from Hogwarts—from them—to Voldemort. She blamed him for his best friend's death, blamed Harry for standing there begging Ron, pleading with him to come back, to not do this, even as Ron hit him with round after round of Cruciatus. She blamed him for the Killing Curse that had erupted from Severus Snape's wand, hitting that tall, gangly back just instants before Ron's poison-tipped blade would have reached his own throat.

He blamed himself, too.

OoOoOoOoOoO

As students scraped the remains of their pudding from their plates (and Harry finally relinquished the mushy remains of his roll), Dumbledore rose and waited patiently for their full attention. Silence swept across the Great Hall as he began to speak.

"My friends, I realize these past six months have been very difficult for us all. Before we continue, let us observe a moment of silence in honor of those we have lost." Students and teachers bent their heads in respectful silence, and several sniffles echoed through the hall.

Harry stared vacantly at the bowed heads; he could not think of those lost, not now, not without losing himself. His gaze was caught by the one other person who held his head high, and his eyes locked with those of Professor Severus Snape.

The two men studied each other intently. Harry was shocked by the weariness he saw within the Potions Master's gaze—there was a flicker of something he could not define. The Professor arched an eyebrow, asking something Harry could not answer, however much he might have wished he could. He breathed a sigh of relief when Dumbledore resumed his speech.

"Although we still feel sorrow, the time has come for us to move on. Our friends and family gave themselves so that we could live freely, and we must honor that sacrifice. In that vein, I am pleased to announce the beginning of a new undertaking, a project that I hope will bring comfort and closure for all of us. We will be using music to tell a story of times past, a story very similar to our own. At the end of the school year, Hogwarts will present the musical _Les Misérables_ right here in this very hall."

Harry glanced up, intrigued. His Aunt Petunia loved musicals, and she often played recordings of them while cleaning. In the last few summers, he had often snuck downstairs when the others were out and listened to them, humming along. He especially liked _Les Misérables_.

Dumbledore's eyes began to glow with the mischievous glint that Harry had not realized he missed, as he continued. "For those of you unfamiliar with the musical..." He took a deep breath and began to sing in a surprisingly pleasant baritone. _"In case you are simply a confused and worried child, let me explain the plot of the show to you so you can understand the way it's styled."_ He took a deep breath. _"Jean ValjeanisaconvictwhoisbeingchasedbythepolicemanJavert,whodoesn'tknowthatheisnowamayorandhasadoptedCosettethedaughterofFantinewhodiesinActOne. And that's why Jean Valjean must run!"_

He gave an expectant smile, and there was a long pause until Professor Flitwick gamely commented, "Ah, yes."

Dumbledore nodded. _"ThenhebecomesinvolvedinaFrenchrevolution, butnotthebigfamousone,alittlelateroneyouthoughtdidn'tyoudidn'tknowanythingabout, where Jean Valjean watches everyone get caught, except for...?"_

There was another silence, so long that Harry was considering answering when Professor Snape dryly offered, "Marius."

Dumbledore beamed. _"Yes! Marius! WholovesCosetteinsteadofEponine, whojoinstherevolutionariesandrunsupthebarricade where she gets...?"_

Hagrid was eager to join in. "Pregnant?"

Dumbledore had to cough before shaking his head. _"...shot! AftershesingsalongballademuchlikeJeanValjeanwhodiespeacefullyknowinghehasdrivenJaverttojumpoffabridgeandsignificantlychangedFrancebybeinganall-aroundniceguy, and suddenly our story's done!"_ He smiled benignly at the stunned students. "How did you like that?"

Harry couldn't contain a snort of laughter, and Dumbledore gave him a wink while Snape sneered. Dumbledore continued, "Since time is short, I took the liberty of feeding everyone's name into the Sorting Hat, along with the possible roles." He pulled the battered hat from a pocket of his robe and laid it carefully on the table. "It has kindly agreed to supply us with the individuals best suited for each part. Keep in mind, we have potions to provide age or youth and can even help strengthen a singing voice, so there's no need to be concerned. For those of you who are not in the cast, there will be a variety of committees that will need your assistance." He opened his mouth to continue, only to close it again when the Sorting Hat rather impatiently cleared its throat. "Ah, I see that the hat is ready, so if I may have your attention..."

Everyone stared at the Hat, which fluffed itself importantly before the tear at the brim opened and it shouted, "The Director will be Professor Rolanda Hooch!"

Everyone applauded, as Professor Hooch gave what could only be described as an evil grin. Harry quickly lost interest, tuning out as the Sorting Hat announced name after name for every character in the musical, including some so minor he had never heard of before. He vaguely heard Professor Lupin given the role of Marius, and even he had to smile at the look on the Professor's face when the role of his lover, Cosette, was given to Professor Trelawney. He amused himself with casting the show in his head, trying to guess the hat's choices. It hurt to hear Hermione receive the role of Eponine Thenardier when he simply couldn't congratulate her. He was unsurprised to hear Ernie Macmillan cast as the Bishop of Digne, but downright shocked to learn that Professor McGonagall was best suited for the role of Fantine. Professor Dumbledore, of course, was the revolutionary leader Enjolras, although it was difficult to guess whether he was more excited by the role or by the opportunity to de-age himself back into his twenties. The two main male roles were a mystery to Harry, though; whom would the Sorting Hat choose to play the hunted, haunted Jean Valjean and his antagonist Inspector Javert, the dedicated policeman blinded by the law?

As if it heard his wonderings (and perhaps it did), the hat announced, "The role of Inspector Javert will be played by Professor Severus Snape!" The smattering of applause died quickly as said Professor turned a deadly glare on those clapping. Harry shrugged; speaking as the favorite prey of the Potions master, he felt supremely sympathetic towards the unfortunate soul who would be playing—

"Jean Valjean will be played by Harry Potter!"

Ah. Well, that was inevitable.

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"Albus, I don't care whose hare-brained scheme this is, I _refuse_ to sacrifice my precious free time to perform in Hogwarts's therapy program for the tin-eared!" Severus exploded as he angrily paced the office, unsure what part of this farce upset him the most. Was it the humiliation, or the knowledge that he would have to work closely with... _him?_ Glancing up to meet Dumbledore's piercing blue gaze, he thrust the question from his mind, realizing the stupidity of attempting soul-searching of any sort in the Headmaster's presence.

"Severus," Albus said placidly, "This project is not solely for the students' sakes." He peered over his glasses, meeting his friend's eyes. "We all need to heal." Seeing the other man about to protest, he added, "Perhaps this will allow friendships to mend."

Severus gaped. "What do you mean by—"

"Your personal progress with Mr. Potter during the war was amazing, Severus," Albus interrupted, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together across his lap. "Don't think I didn't notice all the extra meetings, meetings that had little to do with tutoring and everything to do with friendship. Then the war ended, and you both promptly ceased all communication—you don't even meet the boy's eyes anymore!"

Severus narrowed his eyes, his gaze a thin ebony beam. "There was little to say, sir," he muttered. "Potter obviously had no desire to talk to me once the urgency had faded."

If Albus had been a little younger, Severus had the feeling that the Headmaster would have rolled his eyes. "Or perhaps he left you alone because he believed _you_ had no desire to see _him_." He held up a gnarled hand, forestalling the coming rebuttal. "Severus—just think about it," he said gently. "These rehearsals are for you, too."

OoOoOoOoO

"I can't believe you get to be the giant hero-slash-studly-man while I am stuck playing a prepubescent boy obsessed with _dogs_."

Draco's complaints had long since lost any entertainment value. Harry sighed, curling further into his perch on the windowsill. "Valjean is really, really not a stud, Dray," he pointed out for what felt like the seventieth time. "He's an old, dying man by the end of the musical, and a convict at the beginning."

"Yeah, a convict! And who knows better than me what it's like to switch sides?" Draco grinned good-naturedly. "Face it, Potter, the Sorting Hat is obviously deranged."

"I knew that within a half-hour of my first arrival at Hogwarts," Harry muttered. Attempting a light-hearted smile, he commented, "You know you will be adorable as Gavroche. Girls will coo over you and give you hugs."

Draco's silver eyes glittered smugly. "Well, the Malfoy family is known for its angelic good-looks." Suddenly realizing what he had said, the blonde grimaced. _When your parents die immediately after telling you of their plans to disown you, do you uphold your place as the last of your clan, or let the Malfoy name die with them?_

Harry slung an arm around his friend's shoulders, offering wordless comfort that Draco soaked up like water in the desert. For all their jokes, both teens knew they'd be lost without each other.

When Lucius Malfoy had beaten his son within an inch of death for refusing Voldemort's Mark, he had come to Harry for help. When Ron left and most of Gryffindor blamed their star Seeker, it had been Draco that kept him sane. They had trained together, Draco teaching Harry everything his father had drilled into his head. When Harry had fainted after killing Voldemort, Draco had caught him and protected his unconscious form from desperate, vengeful Death Eaters. Over the past year, they had come to know each other better than themselves, had seen each other broken and helped piece each other together again. They were brothers in arms, bonded by blood in the truest sense of the word.

Draco forced a smile, ignoring his previous comment. "I suppose it _would_ be downright tragic to age this face," he declared, nudging Harry. Slightly more serious, he asked, "Do you want to practice for tonight?"

"We're in a _library_," Harry protested, avoiding the question. Tonight, their first read-through. Although he knew the play, he couldn't stop the butterflies in his stomach that took flight whenever he thought of all those people, listening to _him_. He shook his head slightly. "I know it as well as I will, I think."

Draco studied him carefully. "You'll be fine. At least this will give you a chance to talk to—"

"Don't even start, Draco," Harry snapped. "He's made his opinion of me clear. At least his role will require very little acting; instead of 'Harry Potter... our new _celebrity_,' he can just insert '24601' and have the perfect attitude."

The blond snorted. "Well, you two fit your parts perfectly, that's for sure," he choked out through his laughter. "Although Valjean shows a bit more remorse for his rule-breaking."

"_Law_-breaking, Draco; it's a little different from breaking curfew," Harry corrected. "Now shut up or I'm going to convince Director Hooch that you should be a child for the next two months, to get in character." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's time to go, little man," he jibed, gathering his things.

Draco rolled his eyes and nodded, shoving his books haphazardly into his bag. "Let's make sure to get seats together," he suggested.

That earned Draco his first genuine smile from his dark-haired friend. "Thank you," Harry murmured.

With a shrug, Draco pushed him towards the door. "Someone has to look out for you, old man," he commented.

* * *

_**A/N:** The lyrics Dumbledore sings at the beginning of the fic are from the "Forbidden Broadway" satire of the musical and are speed-sung to the tune of the verses of "Red and Black." That sneaky old goat knows everything! The responses of the other characters are also from the show, although they've spontaneously come up with them here. I transcribed these by ear, so all may not be exactly right. The rest of the lyrics are, obviously, from the actual musical. Piton_

**Feedback:** Is adored. I throw parades in its honor. I sing songs and tell tales of its brilliance. It has only one downside, which is that it tends to convince me to write more. Criticism, accolades, requests and questions can reach me at or just scroll down to that little review button.

_One more thing: to FRU fans, be patient! More is coming!_


	2. Do You Hear the People Sing?

**This chapter has been reposted to correct a formatting error.**

_**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One._

**Do You Hear the People Sing?**

Harry had the feeling that Hooch was greatly enjoying this opportunity to boss around her fellow teachers and employer. She stood at the head of the Hufflepuff table, where the cast had congregated, smirking at Snape's sour face and Dumbledore's reluctantly quiet visage. Beside her stood Ginny Weasley, the Student Director. Harry avoided her eyes; no matter what the Weasley family said, he knew they would never forget his role in Ron's fall from grace. He smiled gratefully at Draco as he slipped into the seat beside him, smirking in that way of his that signaled an approaching soliloquoy on his own greatness when he was cut off by Hooch's strident tones.

"Alright, everyone! We are simply running straight through the show tonight. We don't have time to stop, so try not to get too lost or I will be forced to sing your lines for you." Harry noticed all the teachers cringed in unison. "Has anyone forgotten their part? No? Then get out your music and let's be off."

Everyone groaned and settled in for a long night. With a wave of her wand, the sweeping chords of the Prologue began. Harry ignored Draco's snickers as he sang with his fellow convicts, falling silent at the sound of Snape's voice.

He and Draco traded wide-eyed looks. Even sounding bored and irritated, Snape's voice was impressive. Harry almost missed his first solo entrance, squeaking out his weak and trembly voice just in time for his cue. He felt Draco's hand on his arm, but the panic did not abate until Javert's part ended and Snape appeared to tune out.

Harry's voice grew a bit stronger as he continued with Valjean's first moments out of prison in 19 years. He faltered again as Anthony Goldstein, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Jack Sloper took turns ostracizing him because of his criminal record. Despite his continuing nerves, he nearly fell asleep as Ernie performed the part of the Bishop at a ponderously slow tempo. He heard Draco cackling as Harry sang timidly, _"But when the house was still, I got up in the night. Took the silver, took my flight!"_ He determinedly avoided Snape's gaze; he didn't need to meet the man's eyes to know he sounded more terrified than terrible.

It wasn't until his soliloquy that Harry began to feel comfortable. Here, at last, were words he could understand, emotions he felt everyday. He thought of the war, of the people he killed and the people that died in his stead as he sang, _"And have I fallen so far, and is the hour so late, that nothing remains but the cry of my hate? The cries in the dark that nobody hears, here where I stand at the turning of the years."_ He thought of his life, his duty as the Boy-Who-Lived, fighting for a world that did not care if he lived or diedas long as he did their dirty work first. _"My life was a war that could never be won; they gave me a number and murdered Valjean when they chained me and left me for dead,"_ he cried.

He glanced at Snape before focusing on Draco, singing, _"He treated me like any other. He gave me his trust, he called me brother."_ His gaze turned to Dumbledore. _"My soul he claimed for God above—can such things be?"_ And he glared at Hermione, who was defiantly avoiding his eyes. _"For I had come to hate the world; this world that always hated me."_ He covered Draco's hand on his arm with his own, singing bitterly to Dumbledore—his general, reluctant Mephistopheles to his innocent Faust. He felt tears in his eyes as he shouted, _"Take an eye for an eye! Turn your heart into stone! This is all I have lived for! This is all I have known!"_

As the song wound to an end, he felt himself reaching his breaking point as he whispered, _"I am reaching, but I fall, and the night is closing in; and I stare into the void to the whirlpool of my sin. I'll escape now from that world, from the world of Jean Valjean—"_ He jumped an octave as he bellowed, _"Jean Valjean is nothing now; another story must begin!"_

Even the music stopped at the end of the song, as everyone stared at Harry in a combination of shock and horror. He felt Draco rubbing his arm soothingly as he forced himself to look up and meet everyone's eyes. He saw Draco's understanding, compassionate gaze; Dumbledore's eyes, filled with realization and a dawning guilt; Remus's tears; Hermione's strangely blank expression; and Snape, staring at him with the same calculating stare he received in his second year after calling off a snake. The only thing that kept Harry from bolting was the comforting weight of Draco's hand on his. After what felt like an eternity, the blonde snapped imperiously, "I thought we weren't stopping tonight! We have a lot left." Madame Hooch nodded and hastily restarted the music.

Harry slid an arm around Draco and gave him a thankful smile as they continued with Fantine's sad story. He paid no attention as they moved through "At the End of the Day," "I Dreamed A Dream," and "Lovely Ladies," relying on Draco's elbow in his stomach to warn him when it was time for one of his brief lines. He woke up long enough to watch a terrified Blaise Zabini yell at McGonagall as he sang the part of the unpleasant factory manager Bamatobois. Harry felt sorry for the Slytherin; the look the Transfiguration Professor was giving him promised painful revenge against anyone who dared to even glance her way. Her voice was rusty but pleasant, although she, like Snape, made it clear that she wished herself elsewhere. Fortunately, by the time of his entrance in "Fantine's Arrest," she was busy glaring at Snape as he gleefully lectured her. They moved through the cart scene and Harry, having no desire to regain everyone's attention, gave a lackluster performance of "Who Am I?" Fantine died, and Harry and Snape tackled "The Confrontation." Considering it was their first attempt, and that both men were ignoring each other while desperately wishing themselves elsewhere, they did a surprisingly good job staying together as they sang in counterpoint to each other. Harry coughed as he felt Draco poke him in the ribs, and when he next glanced at Dumbledore, the man was beaming at him with a full-fledged twinkle in his eye.

The next few songs were spent trying to distract Draco before he burst into howls of laughter. It was unclear whether he was laughing at Luna, who was giving the impression that she had just wandered in and happened to be singing the part of Young Cosette, or at Professor Flitwick and Millicent Bulstrode's gleeful performances as the Thenardiers. Millie caught Harry's eye as she snarled, _"Enough of that, or I'll forget to be nice!"_ and both young men were gone with uncontrollable giggles. "Want to bet on Luna's odds of surviving this show?" Draco whispered wickedly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "The hat must have an awfully cruel sense of humor," he returned. It was only reasonable that forthright, no-nonsense Millie would have problems keeping her patience with Luna. As Harry, Millicent, and Professor Flitwick sang "The Bargain," and "The Thenardier Waltz of Treachery," he felt himself grinning for the first time in months. As Harry and Luna sang what Draco had termed "the insipid la-la music," Harry was aware of his friend straightening in his chair and clearing his throat pretentiously.

They had finally reached 1832, Paris, and most importantly the Entrance of Gavroche. Harry lifted his wand slightly and whispered an incantation at his preening friend, who puffed up importantly as he began to sing, _"How do you do, my name's Gavroche,"_ glaring at Harry when he realized his voice had been spelled to that of a young boy.

Harry shrugged innocently, mouthing, "That's show business." He lost his innocent expression and broke out laughing as Draco continued to glare, his fierce expression at odds with his sweet little voice.

Their quarrel was forgotten when Dumbledore began to sing. The aura of power that surrounded him during battle had returned, taking decades off and drawing all eyes to him. Remus sang his lines in response, but all attention was focused on the Headmaster as he sang, _"With all the anger in the land, how long before the Judgment Day? Before we cut the fat ones down to size? Before the barricades arise?"_ Thus finished, he sat back in his seat: twinkling, benign Dumbledore once more. Harry got the feeling that the Headmaster was greatly amused by everyone's gaping expressions.

Harry ignored Hermione's entrance, flipping aimlessly through his script. He had a bit of a break, other than one short outburst. He glanced up when he heard Trelawney's simpering voice. _"How strange, this feeling that my life's begun at last..."_ He watched her nudge her chair closer and closer to Lupin, who looked like he was about to tear down Hogwarts's anti-Apparation ward single-handedly if it would allow him to escape the Divination teacher and her smothering cloud of perfume. Harry reluctantly sang his lines, avoiding his "daughter's" strangely blank stare. He was too relieved to finish to feel sorry for Lupin as he started the actual love duet. Finally, thankfully, they had finished the First Act, and Hooch called for a fifteen-minute break before starting Act Two.

No sooner had she finished her announcement did Harry feel Draco's fingers digging into his shoulder. "Change my voice back, I can't brag about my incredible performance while I sound like like Professor Flitwick!"

OoOoOoO

He couldn't understand.

The boy had won, had faced Evil and banished it from the Earth. He had fame, money, and a friend that would die for him... it had only made sense to back away, to distance himself before the boy learned that heroes and unmentionables shouldn't mix.

He should be happy, he wanted the boy to be happy. That was why he had left him, left his small frame crumpled on the ground beside his fallen rival. Part of his heart had remained, but he could live with that.

Most of the world thought him heartless anyway.

But this evening, Harry had stood before them and had cast off his self-appointed role of Happy Young Man, revealing a desperate and angry teenager bowed under the weight of loneliness and guilt. And, God help him, looking to Snape to catch him before he fell.

And he _ached_ to do just that, to move beside his Harry and pull him close, running his fingers through the ebony hair, taming the locks as he promised to calm the soul. He was born to protect this man, compelled to care about his wellbeing. He no longer cared about the opinions of others, no longer feared the rush of emotions crowding his battle-scarred chest.

His gaze fell on Harry as Lupin sang in the background—

_In my life,_

There is someone who touches my life

Waiting near...

Waiting here.

OoOoOoO

Harry could not understand how everyone slept at night. He wasn't judging them, but he found himself simply incapable of comprehending a night of peace. The stillness of the dark was the perfect backdrop for the shadows that hovered always at the edge of the sunlight…

_When he closed his eyes, he saw Ron, his mouth a twisted _moue_ of disgust as he raised his wand. He heard Voldemort's laugh, and the soft thud Neville's body had made as it hit the ground. He could feel the _Cruciatus_ surge through his blood, the pain a mere prickling discomfort compared to the ache of fear and betrayal curling in his belly. He could smell the blood, taste the suffering that hung heavy on the air…_

He couldn't understand how everyone slept at night, while he was driven from his dorm to walk the endless halls, fruitlessly trying to outrun his thoughts. He had an uncomfortable feeling that Dumbledore knew, and while the idea mortified him, he was grateful for the pointed ignorance of the teachers and staff.

Tonight, however, his path was not aimless, even if his conscious mind could not quite discern his destination. It was not long before he found himself pacing at the door of the Room of Requirement. He smiled bitterly. _I doubt even Hogwarts has the magic to provide what I require._ Opening the door, he was unsurprised to find a Player Piano. "Well, well, what shall we play?" he whispered, running a finger lightly down the keys. "What great masterpiece is the appropriate requiem for innocence?" As if it had heard his question, the piano began to play. He recognized the melody immediately. Closing his eyes, he began to sing:

_God on high_

Hear my prayer

In my need

You have always been there.

He is young

He's afraid

Let him rest

Heaven blessed.

Bring him home...

OoOoOoO

Severus was finishing his nightly prowl when he heard the first strains of music weaved its ghostly way through the echoes of the castle. He moved swiftly to the Room of Requirement, knowing who was inside. The door creaked quietly as he opened it, but the current occupant was too far gone to notice. Even Severus's granite composure melted a fraction at the heartbroken picture Harry presented.

The Seventh Year was leaning against the cold stone wall as he sat on the piano bench, his legs bent in front of him and his arms pulling them to his chest. There were tears running down his face as he finished his song:

_Bring him peace_

Bring him joy

He is young

He is only a boy

You can take

You can give

Let him be

Let him live

If I die, let me die

Let him live

Bring him home,

Bring him home

Bring him home.

Harry barely finished the final phrase when he burst into wracking sobs, the first time he'd cried since the battle, Severus guessed. Without a second thought, he swept forward and gathered the younger man into his arms.

Severus was not a comforter, never a caregiver, he knew that all too well. Yet this, he thought, rubbing Harry's back soothingly, was something he had managed to learn out of necessity. Their training had been hard, had been cruel, and there was no one available to put Harry back together save Severus himself. Severus did not remember the first time he had tentatively laid a hand on Harry's shoulder rather than throwing him out of the room after a session, not any more than he remembered the last time he had forced this strong-willed creature to cry. But somewhere along the line, between fighting Dementors and Death Eaters, between Occlumency and true Remedial Potions, holding Harry in his arms had become a habit that both drew strength from. They both had to be strong, to keep everything inside so they could be ready to fight, but in the seclusion of the dungeons they could take the comfort they needed and call it training.

And Severus knew this was what he had been missing since that day in the Great Hall. A haven, a home for two men who lacked the knowledge to recognize what they had.

But they could learn.

_Do you hear the people sing_

Lost in the valley of the night

It is the music of a people

Who are climbing to the light.

For the wretched of the earth

There is a flame that never dies.

Even the darkest night will end

And the sun will rise.

* * *

_**A/N:** This has many loose ends, as it was originally intended to be a much longer fic, through the performance and graduation. I'm no longer sure if that is a good idea, or if it would seem extraneous. If you have any opinions, let me know! Piton_


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